


Cold-Blooded

by spiralblade



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulation, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mental Breakdown, Mentioned Alexis | Quackity, Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Mentioned Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Not Canon Compliant, Self-Harm, Suicide, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, Tommy POV, TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralblade/pseuds/spiralblade
Summary: Tommy hasn't felt warmth in so long.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 298





	Cold-Blooded

**Author's Note:**

> This is a draft from a long time ago when Tommy was still in exile that I forgot to post, whoops.

Exile was awful. 

He still couldn't believe that Tubbo exiled him. The same Tubbo he grew up with, the Tubbo he promised the world for, but the Tubbo that stood before him was unrecognizable, more like Schlatt than Tubbo if he were to be honest. The Tubbo that Tommy knew wouldn’t have stood on the shore docilely, watching Tommy get rowed away by a psychopath to some far-off land. 

He had been difficult at first. He purposefully rocked the boat to the side, getting satisfaction listening to Dream curse under his breath as he tried to steady the boat. _‘Good_ ,’ he thought _‘this is what he deserved for forcing Tubbo to exile him'_. But once they had arrived on shore, reality finally sunk in. He was exiled from L'manberg—from his _home_. Dream had left him there with a couple of pieces of wood and some weapons before silently rowing away. _What an asshole_. 

He moved on to being overly optimistic, trying to make the best of his exile by hanging out with Ghostbur and constructing new buildings to busy his hands. He built his tent, went mining everyday, worked on writing _How to Sex 3_ and everything was fine. 

Until the beach party he had poured his heart and soul into turned out to be a complete failure. He had learned three things after that. One, _no one_ was going to come. Two, _no one_ cared. Three, he was _alone_. 

He had turned to anger then. He fought Dream—insulting and taunting him. But Dream showed no emotion, his voice was always steady when he threatened him with the promise of death. So, Tommy did what he said and soon all his anger fizzled out, leaving him cold and empty. 

As the days passed he felt more and more lonely. Wilbur was there but he wasn’t _there_. He was merely a shell of what he used to be, a ghost who couldn’t even remember his own past. It wasn’t the same as when Wilbur was alive, when it was just the two of them spending hours around the campfire trading stories. 

He missed his brother, the one that radiated warmth. The real Wilbur was a steady pillar, one that pushed Tommy in the right direction. Ghostbur was transparent—he was no pillar, never would be—and Tommy's hands went straight through him. Some nights he still cried for his lost brother, yearning for the great man he once was before insanity consumed him.

He also missed human contact terribly. He missed Niki’s hugs, the way she smelled like freshly baked goods. He missed Ranboo’s awkward shoulder pats. He missed the way Big Q would sling an arm over his shoulder, cackling over some stupid joke he had made. 

But most of all he missed Tubbo. Oh god, how he _missed_ Tubbo. He missed his hugs, his laugh, his smile. He missed the time they spent sitting on the bench with Chirp playing in the background, joking around and acting like teenage boys for once. He would never see him again, never be warm again.

* * *

Dream was cold. 

He radiated no warmth; his touches were freezing against Tommy’s skin and even after he was long gone, Tommy could still feel them. Wherever he was touched, a feeling of numbness lingered. Tommy didn’t even think he was human, he was convinced that under the mask was a demon with a heart of ice. A demon with a touch so cold you could feel it in your soul, sucking all warmth from your body, leaving it a frigid and empty husk. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt warm, even when he sat in front of a campfire he registered no warmth. He was just numb. He wondered if this is what death felt like. An overall numbness that wholly consumed the body and soul. Tommy would know, he had become good friends with Death during his exile. 

He thought a lot about death, about killing himself because he had nothing to lose really. He had tried before—sinking into the ocean, letting himself be consumed by the waves, but as he sunk deeper and deeper he was more aware of the drop in temperature. He was _freezing_ —colder than he’d ever been. He couldn’t do it. His lungs burned with the need for air and he clawed his way to the surface. The second his head popped up from underwater he was choking in breaths of air, ignoring the dissatisfaction of his failed attempt. He weakly paddled to shore and collapsed in his bed, mentally crossing off drowning from the list.

In his time of desperation, he turned to arson. He was so tired of being cold all the time, he was desperate enough to burn the whole forest to the ground if it meant he would feel warmth. Flint and steel in hand he set the first tree alight, watching as it slowly caught on fire and blazed with a bright light. He understood why Sapnap loved fire so much, there was a sense of satisfaction that came with burning it all down. But it did not bring him warmth, he was as cold as ever. He decided to leave the arsonist tendencies to Sapnap and pocketed his flint and steel. 

The air of the Nether suffocated him; he knew it was hot although he didn’t feel the heat. He had given up on ever feeling warm again and seeing Dream and Sapnap disappear through the portal with a quick “We’ll be back, don't move”, he felt colder than ever. 

He sat on the ledge staring at the fiery molten down below. That was the first time he thought about jumping. The fire called to him, tempting him with warmth—warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt as if he were in a trance, slowly being pulled into the lava before he was harshly yanked back. “It’s not your time to die yet” Dream calmly remarked, staring at him with that stupid mask. Tommy gave one last stare full of longing towards the lava before pushing himself up and walking back to the portal.

“It’s never my time to die” he replied bitterly.

Every time he went to the Nether he was faced with the burning desire to jump, to let himself be consumed by the flames and be surrounded in warmth. But he ignored it, instead, he worked on his cobblestone path, made jokes, and laughed with Dream. He ignored the nagging voice inside his voice screaming at him to jump. _‘just do it, can’t you see no one cares about you anymore, you're so so cold. Just jump and get it over with’_. The voice would coo in his ear, whispering sweet promises that Tommy so badly wanted to fulfill. 

Days later he found an easier way to feel warm again. At first it had been an accident, he was cooking meat on the campfire and his hand strayed too close to the flame. The sharp sting of pain was overlooked over the burst of warmth he felt (accompanied by the smell of burnt flesh). He stared in awe at his hand, it was colored bright red and throbbed in pain, but he hadn’t felt warmth in so long he ignored the pain and shoved his hands into the flames once more. The next day Dream would ask why his hands were covered in bandages and he would shrug and make up some stupid lie about “sword practice”.

Lava was way different from fire. Fire had brought him temporary warmth but lava promised him what he was seeking and more. The lava pool in the Nether taunted him, he thought maybe if he jumped he would feel warm again. He missed the heat; the sun in L'manberg, the warmth from his friends—his friends who he’d _never see again_. He returned his attention to the lava. The red flames jumped from the molten surface and even from the distance he could register the heat. He lost track of time, sitting along the edge and swinging his legs back and forth, debating whether he should jump or not. In the end, he sighed and got up, trudging back home in defeat. Not today.

It's funny how times have changed. In the past he had mocked Sapnap for his pyromaniac disposition and yet here he was; burning forests to the ground, sizzling the skin off his hands, unable to think about anything but the endless lava pool in the Nether. 

* * *

The compass, although composed of metal, radiated warmth.

He remembered standing there when Wilbur presented it to him in his translucent hands. _‘His Tubbo’_ it had said and Tommy wanted to cry. He had carried it everywhere with him, it wasn't Tubbo but it was the next best thing and it was his most cherished item. But it ultimately wasn’t enough, as most things were. 

The warmth he once felt was overtaken by a wave of numbness when he found out Tubbo had destroyed his compass. The compass that had once been a heating pad—a constant source of warmth against his chest—felt ice-cold, but it was still nothing compared to the frigid feeling in his heart. He was tired, he felt betrayed, and he was utterly alone.

His only visitor was his worst enemy. 

Dream with his mask of indifference that seemed to mock him. His hands that sucked all the warmth out of him when they clutched his shoulder, nails digging in painfully. His words that were sharper than his sword, ordering him to throw his armor and items into a hole and watching them blow up. He wondered if Dream got some sick satisfaction from watching him suffer. He could never tell, the wooden mask did a sufficient job of hiding all of the other man's emotions.

Most days he had nothing to do in Logshire and he would spend hours sitting on the beach, staring across the ocean. Staring in the direction L'manberg stood. His hands would harshly dig into the sand and he relished the prickles of pain against his palm. It was a sharp contrast to the numbness he’s been consumed in ever since leaving L'manberg. He’d sit on the sand staring at the ocean until the sun set and he retired to his tent to escape the mobs. 

One night he had a dream. He was chasing a dark figure down a path, no matter how loudly he called out to them, they would not turn to face him. Tommy pursued after them, muscles aching in protest as he ran faster and faster in hopes of catching them. He eventually got close enough where his fingers brushed against their hair. The figure turned around and for a split second, he saw Tubbo, a bright smile on his face that made his chest ache in longing. His mouth opened but no sound came out and then Tubbo was gone, in his place the smell of campfire and a pleasant feeling of warmth that quickly disappeared as well. 

He woke up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, and arm outstretched in front of him. It took him a few seconds to regain his bearings and then he finally broke down. With tears streaming down his face and hands clutching the compass that had lost all warmth, he decided he’s had enough.

The portal shimmered behind him and he stepped into the nether. The thin soles of his shoes crunching into the nether rock as he walked towards his bridge. Finally, he reached the ledge of the bridge and just stood there observing the lava. 

Just living had become a burden to him. With each passing day, he lost more and more of his will. 

Every day was torture for him, he would wake up and Dream would arrive a short time afterward. A hole would be dug where Tommy would throw all his stuff and watch as Dream blew it into smithereens. He would spend the rest of the day harvesting more materials and then finally going to sleep. The next day was a repeat of the previous one and the cycle continued. He’s had _enough_.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the harsh air of the Nether, gave the portal one last glance, and then closed his eyes and let himself fall. As he fell he swore he could hear the faint call of his name but ignored it and instead relished the sense of freefalling. Before he hit the lava he thought of Tubbo. _Would he miss me? Would he be glad that I’m gone?_ Countless thoughts were running in Tommy’s mind.

Tubbo was the sun and Tommy was Icarus. He flew too close and it was his downfall. He was but a mere mortal and Tubbo was a star—he was a star millions of miles away from Tommy’s reach. It was his fault for being foolish enough to think he could obtain the sun. This was his punishment, he was going to let the lava consume him, the same way Tubbo once did. 

The sensation of hitting the lava was unforgettable. It _burned_. The lava devoured the cold, surrounding him in a painful warm embrace. He ignored the excruciating pain of his skin being seared, of his bones getting charred, and focused on the warmth he had been seeking. As he got dragged down to the depths of the Nether his mind was finally at peace. 

  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to change the title and summary later, it's so late rn. Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
